


Satisfaction Guaranteed

by Droewyn



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Character's Name is Spelled Consistently, Comfort Food, Did I Mention Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enigmatic Katsuki Yuuri, Fluff, Getting to Know Each Other, Helen Hunt's Grasshopper Hat, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Phichit Chulanont Would Like To Be A Little Shit But Isn't Given An Opportunity, RATING IS ACCURATE, Sharing a Bed, They're Still At Sochi, Vicchan is still dead, Victor Changes the Rules, Yuuri Isn't Complaining, video games - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-08-20 01:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20219434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Droewyn/pseuds/Droewyn
Summary: “Well, why didn’t you tell him before he left?”  Leo’s suggestion was entirely reasonable, and Phichit snorted at it.“Right,” he deadpanned, “Because ‘Hey Yuuri, it’s fine if you lose,which is totally a possibility that’s on the table let me remind you, since if you do, your own personal lord and savior will be obligated by GPF tradition to show up at your hotel room after the medal ceremony to give you a sympathy fuck’ was a plan with zero downsides.”Or the fic where Victor is thirsty, Yuuri is clueless, and neither one of them is prepared for the other.





	1. Prologue

“Phichit, calm down.” Guang Hong’s voice was pitched to be soothing, and although they weren’t video chatting, Phichit could just about see him raising his hands in the universal ‘woah’ gesture.

He was not having it. “Yuuri’s not answering,” he fretted, for something like the fifth time in as many minutes. He dragged his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit he’d picked up from his roommate, and thumbed redial again. It went straight to voicemail. Again. Didn’t anyone else see what a  _ disaster  _ this was?

“Wow, it’s almost like he’s known for turning his phone off during competitions.” Leo’s amusement was even less welcome than Guang Hong’s gentle composure. “Besides, this is a good thing, right? He’s been crushing on Victor since he was what, twelve?”

“And he’s gotta know already,” Guang Hong added. “Everyone does, even the coaches; they just pretend they don’t.  _ I _ know, and I’m way underage.”

Leo snorted. “Yeah, but that’s because you eavesdrop--”

“What do you expect me to do when nobody wants to  _ tell  _ me anything!”

On any other day he’d find the LeoJi banter precious and adorable and would be shipping it with his entire soul, but right now all Phichit wanted to do was scream. “You guys  _ know  _ how Yuuri is! He gets too stuck in his head to pay attention to locker room gossip at competitions, and he never talks to anyone besides me and Chris and sometimes you guys--”

“Well, why didn’t you tell him before he left?” Leo’s suggestion was entirely reasonable, and Phichit snorted at it.

“Right,” he deadpanned, “Because ‘Hey Yuuri, it’s fine if you lose,  _ which is totally a possibility that’s on the table let me remind you _ , since if you do, your own personal lord and savior will be obligated by GPF tradition to show up at your hotel room after the medal ceremony to give you a sympathy fuck’ was a plan with zero downsides.”

Guang Hong spluttered into his microphone. “Holy shit, Phich, don’t put it like  _ that _ !”

“Trust me,” Phichit groaned. “It wouldn’t have mattered what words I used; that’s exactly how Yuuri would have taken it.”

“Chris is there, too, right? Maybe he--”

“I tried him already. I got a single text back saying not to worry my pretty little head, followed by eighty bazillion peach and eggplant emojis, and he’s been leaving me on read since.” Which was… fine. Great, actually. Reassuring. Not at all worryingly vague or designed to drive Phichit out of his mind, no...

He managed to unclench his jaw before the sounds of his teeth grinding together were picked up by the microphone. Hopefully.

Guang Hong was grasping at straws now. “Your coach?” That suggestion only produced a burst of hysterical laughter at the very idea of  _ Ciao Ciao _ initiating a conversation with  _ Yuuri  _ about  _ sex _ .

Leo sighed. “Look, you tried your best to get in touch with Yuuri, but it’s obviously not going to happen.”

That was unacceptable! “No, I--” 

The American skater continued, ignoring Phichit’s outburst. “You can’t protect him from everything; he  _ is  _ an adult, and anyway, Victor’s supposed to be a really nice guy, you know? Maybe he’ll be able to help Yuuri get past whatever happened before the free today.” 

And didn’t that just hit the nail on the head. It didn’t take a doctorate in Katsuki Yuuri Studies to see that something had gone very, very wrong between the short and long programs, far beyond Yuuri’s usual competition nerves. And Phichit had no idea what. Godsdamn it, why wouldn’t that boy  _ pick up the fucking phone _ ? 

Leo was still talking. “--sides, one of these days you’re going to have to face the fact that there are some situations you just can’t control.”  _ Rude _ . Accurate, maybe, but still rude. 

“Speaking of situations out of your control…” Seung-gil’s voice, and whoops, he sounded  _ pissed _ . “While you’ve all been having this  _ completely irrelevant _ conversation in the middle of battle, the orc leader got bored and decided to throw his warhammer at the rogue. With advantage due to distraction.” There was the sound of dice rolling on a table, and then Seung-gil added smugly, “He hits. Roll for damage.”

“You suck, Lee,” Phichit grumbled, reaching for his own dice. Maybe they were right. Maybe he really needed to take a step back and stop trying to meddle.

At least not when an absolute  _ sadist  _ was doing his best to kill off their party, at any rate.

“You wish, Chulanont. Also, until further notice, talking is no longer a free action.” 


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Commemorative Photo? Sure!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I'm pushing this T rating hard, but this is about as racy as things get and I feel -- and several people agree with me -- that it doesn't (quite) cross the line into Mature status. But mileage varies, so let this serve as a content warning. The following exists in this chapter:
> 
> * a character anticipating sex  
* a character speculating in vague terms about another character's genitals  
* an EXTREMELY vague reference (like blink and you'll miss it) to a character preparing for sex while bathing  
* a character putting on lingerie underneath clothing
> 
> If any of this bothers you, please feel free to skip this chapter. Fluff and (non-sexy) hijinks start next level.
> 
> Love you guys! Whether you skip or not, thanks for reading! <3

Another Grand Prix Final, another gold medal. And another chance to get absolutely railed by a frustrated sixth-placer. It probably said something about Victor that he was more excited about the hookup than he was about the win, but that level of self-examination seemed like it might turn depressing, and so he ignored it.

Besides, the ‘lucky’ winner of the GPF Consolation Prize this year was a new face – which meant new  _ other things  _ \-- and that was worth some interest.  _ Yuuri Katsuki _ . Victor had studied his skating, just as he’d studied all of his closest competitors, but beyond the ice Yuuri was an enigma. He had zero social media presence and avoided contact with his fellow skaters almost as determinedly as he hid from the press. Victor had never even managed to do more than exchange polite greetings with the man, and when the top athletes in their sport could be seated around a single large restaurant table, that was… impressive. And maybe a little insulting, if Victor was being completely honest with himself.  _ Everyone _ wanted to get close to Victor, even if it was only in the hope that some of his legend would rub off on them. So why didn’t Yuuri?

“I’m telling you, I was his rinkmate for a couple years and he’s completely  _ gone _ for Nikiforov.” The three senior champions had just finished up the medal ceremony and subsequent press conference, and were heading toward the locker room together. Bronze – his name was Jimmy John… Something – had an arm slung around Christophe’s shoulders, and for once Chris didn’t look like he was enjoying the physical contact. “Did you even see that free skate? Of  _ course _ he bombed it on purpose.”

Chris made a sound of disgust. “Two years, and you know less about Katsuki Yuuri than a stranger off the street,  _ cheri _ ,” and wow, Victor didn’t know that Chris could make ‘sweetheart’ sound exactly like ‘asshole’ before now. “Yuuri would no more throw a competition than I would. Or Victor.”

And if that wasn’t a cue to interject himself into the conversation, nothing was. “You’re friends with him, Chris,” he said, as though it weren’t common knowledge that Japan’s ace and Switzerland’s darling practically lived in each other’s hotel rooms whenever competitions brought them to the same city. “What’s he like?”  _ Does he have a big dick  _ is what he wanted to know, but he’d never be so crude. At least, not when they were technically in public, and certainly not with John Jacob Jingleheimer-Schmidt hanging on every word.

Chris’s lips curved in a way that suggested he knew exactly what question Victor was leaving unasked. “You’re aware of the phrase, ‘still waters run deep’?” Victor nodded. “Well, if he lets you get close enough, and if you’re very lucky, you might just drown.”

“That is the most Lifetime Channel bullshit I have ever heard.” For once, Victor found himself in complete agreement with the Canadian skater.

“But what more is there to say?” Chris chuckled, and Victor bit back his reply of  _ I don’t know, something helpful?  _ “Yuuri must be experienced on his own terms,  _ mon coeur _ . Give him a chance, and you won’t be disappointed.” And then they were at the locker room and he refused to say anything further, vanishing into one of the shower stalls with a wink and a knowing smile.

Cat people. Enigmatic assholes, the lot of them.

“Hey, uh, Victor.” There was a hand on his arm, and for a moment he wondered if his gaydar was off again and he was about to be propositioned by the bronze medalist. “If you want to know about Katsuki…” After the way Christophe had shut the boy down on the subject Victor wasn’t holding out too much hope, but he smiled his encouragement anyway. A former rinkmate, even one who was only a casual acquaintance, was better than no informant at all. “He’s quiet. Nerdy. Like,  _ really  _ nerdy, but nice. Polite, too. I gave him tips on his axel back when we were rinkmates, helped him improve, you know?”

Victor managed not to roll his eyes. The 3A was Yuuri’s signature jump, and his execution was  _ nothing  _ like James Joyce’s. “I’m sure he appreciated your expert advice,” Victor said, offering up Media Smile #4 for the boy to preen under. “As do I. The picture you paint of Yuuri is very... evocative.”  _ Of a newspaper singles ad. I’m not interested in  _ dating  _ the man.  _ Still, at least it was something.

“You’re welcome.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Oh, and I don’t know what Katsuki’s deal with Giacometti is, but there’s no way they’re fucking. I’d bet money that he has a body pillow with your picture on it, though.” And with that somewhat startling observation, Joan Jett gave Victor a broish pat on the shoulder and walked away.

* * *

Needling Yuri Plisetsky was usually fun, particularly when he could frame it as constructive criticism and not only get Yakov on his side, but practically get him to do his work for him. And it was good advice, too, so it wasn’t -- technically -- Victor’s fault that the junior couldn’t get past the nagging tone to the deathless wisdom that was being imparted. Oh, and then little Yuri just had to mouth off, and now the old coach’s face was going red and his voice was taking on a distinct roaring quality. The spittle would be flying soon, if it wasn’t already.

Normally Victor would be paying more attention -- Yakov in Full Lecture Mode was high entertainment when his diatribes weren’t directed at  _ Victor _ , after all -- but he couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that something was… off. Like there were eyes on him. Which was absolutely ridiculous; he was Victor Nikiforov at a Russian ice rink. Of  _ course  _ someone was looking. It would be far odder if they  _ weren’t _ . But the feeling persisted, and so Victor spared a glance over his shoulder.

To where Yuuri Katsuki was staring at him.

Victor almost didn’t recognize him; probably wouldn’t have at all, if he hadn’t spent every available moment since the final results came in googling the Japanese skater. He was handsome enough in competition makeup, but fresh from the showers, with his hair going every which way and chunky blue-rimmed glasses hiding his big brown eyes, Yuuri looked… young. Soft. Ordinary. On the pleasing side of forgettable, perhaps, but forgettable all the same.

Or he would be, if those big brown eyes weren’t doing their best to bore all the way into Victor’s soul.

It was unnerving. Katsuki wasn’t smirking, or leering at him, or checking him out. His face was an expressionless mask, his gaze never wavering from Victor’s own. Victor felt as though he was being weighed. 

He didn’t like it.

And so Victor did what he always did when he was at a loss: he went into Living Legend Mode, beaming at Katsuki as he turned to fully face the skater, his head automatically tilting to the angle he knew would be most flattering under the lobby’s fluorescent lighting. “Commemorative photo?” he chirped. “Sure!”

Did Katsuki’s eyes widen, before he turned away? Did they suddenly glisten with some unnameable emotion? Did his shoulders slump; did the line of his mouth crumple just the tiniest bit?

Victor didn’t know, not really. Not for sure. What he did know was that he’d been tested, somehow. And he’d failed. And as Team Russia made its way back to the hotel, his mind kept coming back to the same question, over and over, sometimes derisive, sometimes almost admiring:

Who the  _ hell  _ was Yuuri Katsuki?

* * *

He managed to shake off his odd mood by the time he got back to his room. So Yuuri was trying to psych him out; what of it? He wasn’t the first, and he’d hardly be the last. In fact, Victor mused during his second, much more thorough, shower of the evening, wasn’t that what he liked about this little tradition? The way frustration, suppressed resentment, sometimes even obsession exploded into passion?  _ Nobody  _ fucked like someone who had something to prove, after all.

Hell, based on what Victor had seen in the lobby, he might even have to downgrade some jumps in his exhibition tomorrow.

That delicious thought chased off the last of Victor’s reservations, and it was with a growing anticipation fizzing in his stomach that he made himself ready for his evening with Yuuri. Hair, dried and styled. Makeup applied; a ‘natural’ look, not the bold pancake he needed under spotlights. As for dress? His Team Russia Olympic tracksuit, of course, with nothing but a pair of red lace panties and matching bralet underneath. Iconic and irresistable. The perfect combination for a five-time GPF champion. Yuuri Katsuki wasn’t going to know what hit him.

The penthouse elevator was an express, which meant that Victor was stuck going all the way down to the lobby, where he’d have to find the public elevator banks to go back up to the floor where the rest of the skaters were housed. 

In the lobby, it took about two seconds for the first shouts of “Victor Nikiforov!” and then he was surrounded.

It was fine, really. They were his fans, and this was the price of legend. So he smiled and winked his way through the throng, signing autograph books and posters and skate boots and occasionally people, careful not to let any hint of irritation show on his face, never mind his growing realization that hotel lobbies were drafty and, despite appearances, he wasn’t actually wearing a whole hell of a lot to protect him from the December air that rushed inside every time someone got a little too close to the automatic doors.

_ Next year I’m having the sixth placer come to my suite _ , he vowed silently. Assuming he won gold again.

Assuming he even…  _ No. Not thinking about that right now. _

Hotel security prevented anyone from following Victor into the public elevator itself, which was a blessing. He pressed the number for the skaters’ floor, and once the doors were safely closed, finally allowed himself the luxury of shivering. He stomped in place and rubbed at his arms, trying to drive some warmth into his chilled limbs. The movement helped, and he felt almost normal by the time the car reached its destination.

And then he was at Yuuri’s door. Room 444, given to him by a grinning Christophe, who had also wished him a fun night. And good luck.

_ Who needs luck? I’m Victor Nikiforov. _ He knocked on the door and waited.


	3. Why Are You Here!?        (or, Is This What Murderers Eat?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also: Victor tries a food.

When Yuuri Katsuki finally opened the door to his hotel room -- after Victor had been forced to knock a second and third time, that last rapping of knuckles giving off less ‘romantic rendezvous’ energy than ‘room service’, much to his chagrin -- Victor found his breath catching in his throat. Yuuri was peering up through his lashes at Victor, his glasses unable to hide the liquid chocolate of his eyes up close. The faintest hint of a blush dusted his cheeks, and his lower lip was caught between his teeth, drawing attention to the very kissable plush of his mouth. He still looked young. He still looked soft. But forgettable? Victor was starting to wonder.

Particularly given the crop-top that advertised its wearer as a STAMINA MONSTER in bold turquoise lettering, and the boxer briefs that were practically painted onto what even Chris acknowledged as the finest pair of thighs in skating.

It was a contrast between naughty and nice that could only be deliberate, and Victor couldn’t help but admire the man's artistry. And his thighs.

“Yuuri. You kept me waiting,” he purred, reaching out to cup Yuuri’s face and bring him in for a kiss. But no sooner had his fingers brushed that delicate jawline than Yuuri was dancing away, a coquettish smile on his lips and laughter shining in those endless dark eyes. Victor pursued Yuuri, as he was clearly meant to, until they met at the bed and the other man was pulling him down, their lips coming together in a sudden, explosive desire...

At least, that was what was supposed to happen. What _ actually _happened was that Yuuri jerked away at Victor’s touch like a startled deer and scrambled backwards, a look of sheer panic on his face, before tripping over a piece of luggage, flailing wildly in a valiant but ultimately doomed attempt to keep his balance, and falling flat on his butt with an undignified squawk.

Victor was standing frozen inside the open doorway, his hand still outstretched. Yuuri was sprawled inside the open suitcase, his limbs spilling over the sides of the trunk. They blinked at each other.

“Are you all right--” “Why are you _ here--_”

“I’m fine, it’s fine, you can go--” “I’m here for you, of course--”

“What?” “_What! _?”

And then they were back to staring and blinking.

Victor snapped out of it first and rushed to Yuuri’s side, letting the hotel room door swing closed behind him. He held out a hand. “Do you need help?”

“N-no, I’m okay!” Red-faced, and avoiding Victor’s eyes, Yuuri tried to push himself up far enough to get his feet under him. (Victor definitely did not take a moment to drool over the whipcord muscle of those arms.) Unfortunately, the suitcase was a little too deep, and all too soon the effort found Yuuri sagging back into the trunk with a disgusted huff.

The other skater buried his face in his hands. “Never mind,” he muttered. “No problem. I just live here now. It’s _ fine_.”

Victor couldn’t help it; he chuckled. Which earned him a glare, Yuuri’s fingers parting just enough for Victor to catch a glimpse of offended chocolate, those blue-rimmed glasses askew and hopelessly smudged. “Oh, Yuuri, I didn’t realize you were so cute!” He cocked his head, bringing his finger to his bottom lip in a show of contemplation. “You know, I could probably just pick you up bridal-style...”

Both Yuuri’s glare and Yuuri’s blush, which had by now spread all the way to the tips of his ears, deepened. “Absolutely not.” Then there was a pause, and a tiny voice whispered, “You really knew who I was? Back at the venue?”

“Of course I did!” Now it was Victor’s turn to play at taking umbrage, never mind that he really had barely recognized the skater out of costume. He _ had _realized that it was Yuuri, and wasn’t that what mattered? “There are only five other men’s singles skaters here, and despite what ESPN thinks, I do take my competition seriously.” He held his hand out again, and this time after only a brief hesitation Yuuri took it, allowing Victor to pull him to his feet. “Besides,” Victor continued, “even if I wasn’t aware of you from skating, I also know that you’re good friends with Christophe. He’s been nothing but complimentary when he mentions you.” Yuuri still wasn’t looking directly at Victor while he extracted himself from the luggage with Victor’s help, but at least he’d stopped hiding his face. And he nodded when Victor brought up Chris, the shared connection seeming to help soothe his nerves.

_ Chris could have mentioned that he was skittish _ , Victor grumbled to himself. _ Then again, Chris could have mentioned a lot of things. I hope it’s not too late to salvage the evening. _ Yuuri was shifting nervously from foot to foot and he was still flushed pink, but he also hadn’t dropped Victor’s hand yet. _ A good sign, but this will require some delicacy _. “I’d also like to think I can recognize the man I intend to spend the evening with from across a crowded room, Yuuri.” Victor’s smile was soft, his tone gentle but laced with a hint of promise. 

Yuuri should have smiled, relaxed further. Taken the opportunity to flirt back, to steer their assignation back on course. Instead, he went absolutely _ white _ and snatched his hand back from Victor’s loose grasp, cradling it to his chest as though burned. “Y-you what?” He took a step backwards, shock and -- outrage? -- playing across his delicate features. “Is this some kind of joke? Am... _ I _some kind of..?” Yuuri’s mouth snapped shut and he retreated further into the room. His eyes were glittering, and Victor realized with horror that they were filling with tears.

_ What on earth just happened? _ “Yuuri, I--” He didn’t know what to do. Victor _ never _ knew what to do when people started crying. When they just laid their emotions bare like that, all loud and messy and unscripted and _ real_, and suddenly Victor had no clue how he was supposed to act, who they needed him to _ be_. “I don’t… what--”

“W-we’ve never even had a real conversation,” Yuuri wailed, his voice cracking. “Not once. And I thought, maybe, someday if I were on your level... But I’m not. I probably won’t ever be. But then suddenly you’re _ here_, and you’re acting like you see me, like _ I’m _ s-someone you w-want to…” He closed his eyes, hugging himself, and the tears spilled over. In a ragged whisper, he spat, “How can you be so cruel and still skate like _ that_?”

Victor had been called cruel before. He’d been called a lot of things over the years, since long before they started naming him _ legend _ and _ prince _ , and it hadn’t all been complimentary. Not by a long shot. But this was perhaps the first time someone else’s words had made him feel _ guilty -- _and he didn’t even know what it was he’d done wrong! 

The living legend would offer an autograph or selfie. Been there, done that, didn’t work the first time. The playboy would double down on the flirting. Victor, fortunately, wasn’t _ that _ stupid. The media darling would smile and wink and tell the audience exactly what they needed to hear in glittering soundbites. But what the hell did Yuuri need to hear from Victor? If he knew that, he wouldn’t be _ in _ this mess. The champion, the real one, the one who couldn’t remember the last actual rest day he’d taken, what it felt like to not be in pain, to not be constantly pushing himself to improve, surpass, surprise? The one who silently passed judgment on everyone and everything, and none more harshly than himself? Unleashing _ him _ on Yuuri _ would _be cruel. And the aloof ice prince? Just. No.

Victor Nikiforov had a persona for every situation. Except, evidently, for this one.

So he panicked. 

“I’m sorry, I just, the Consolation Prize, and you came in sixth, and I won gold, I mean you knew that, you were there, so that means I’m _ here_, to, _ you know_, but, I was expecting, I, _ you_, oh god, we were just supposed to have a good time and I don’t understand, why are you crying, please _ please _stop crying, I’m so sorry, Yuuri!”

It wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t polished or rehearsed. It wasn’t even _ coherent _. But it was honest. And it did stop Yuuri’s tears.

“_Oh_.” Yuuri looked calmer now, his eyes red and watery and dull. The corners of his mouth turned up in a wan smile, and for a moment Victor dared to hope that he might have actually said the right thing. That he’d fixed things. But then Yuuri spoke, and the resignation in his voice made Victor’s heart sink even lower. “You’re offering me pity sex.” He chuckled, a bitter little exhalation. “Honestly, I’d rather go back to when I thought you were messing with my head. At least that might have been personal.” 

“It’s a tradition.” Victor’s protest was weak, and not to mention terribly insensitive, but his mouth had apparently decided that talking without consulting his brain first was its new favorite pastime.

That hurt little smile firmed. “No, thank you.” And Yuuri glanced toward the door in obvious invitation.

He was right. Victor really should just go. He’d obviously fucked the evening up beyond all hope of repair, and the best thing -- for everyone -- would be if he went away quickly and quietly so that they could both get on with pretending their disastrous encounter had never happened in the first place. “I’m not leaving you alone like this,” Victor’s traitorous mouth informed them both. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I’m hardly going to barge into your hotel room, make you cry, and then _ leave_, Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s color was coming back. So was his outrage. “And I don’t get a say in that? What if I don’t want you here?”

Victor sighed. “If you really, truly, don’t want to have anything to do with me, then of course I’ll go. But I’d like the opportunity to make amends, if I could. And I do still owe you a couple hours.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Again. “Thanks,” Yuuri said sharply, “but I’d rather die a virgin.”

“No pity sex!” Victor hastened to add. “Not that it would have been, at all, because you’re not! Pitiful, I mean!” _Bozhe__ fucking moi_. Could he possibly make things any worse? “It doesn’t have to be, ah, _ intimate, _you know.” He studied Yuuri. The Japanese skater still had his arms crossed over his chest, but the kicked puppy look was gone, replaced with irritation, wariness, and… confusion? That same puzzlement had been in his expression in one form or another, ever since he’d opened the door to Victor, but what did it--

Oh.

“You really weren’t expecting me at all, were you? Nobody told you about... the tradition.”

Yuuri said nothing, but his mouth tightened a bit, and that was confirmation enough. It was official; Victor was an idiot.

“Oh,” he said. “Well, it’s not about sex. Or, at least, it’s not supposed to be; that’s just what pretty much everyone seems to want, but.” He cleared his throat. “The Grand Prix series is different, right? With it being a tournament, and it’s such a big deal for months, and everyone works so hard to get to the Final, but even if we do we can’t all be… There’s only so many… I mean, someone has to…” Victor shrugged and waved a hand in the air somewhat helplessly. There was no way for him to finish that sentence and not sound arrogant. _ Victor _had never ‘won’ a Consolation Prize, after all. “It’s really just supposed to be like a friendly bonding thing. Or maybe a ‘cheer-up’ thing. Or--”

“Oh my god, I used to think you were suave.” Victor started. Yuuri still looked angry, he still looked wary, but those were starting to fade and now there was humor there? And -- maybe -- some kind of acceptance? “What happened to the Hero of Russia who offered me a selfie?”

Victor perked up at that. “Why, do you want one now?” He summoned up a ghost of one of his more popular media smiles. “Okay--”

“Nope!” Yuuri’s refusal was bright, and cheerful, and left Victor gaping at him like a fish. And then Yuuri _ laughed _at him, exploding into slightly hysterical giggles that had no right to sound that sweet when they were at Victor’s expense.

He spluttered in response. “I-- but..! You… Hey! Yuuuuuuuuriiiiiiiiii!” That last was a whine, the ugly and annoying high-pitched one that Victor thought Lilia had trained him out of when he was a teenager, and if Yuuri hadn’t already been overcome with laughter before, he certainly was now. He continued to shake, and Victor kept babbling out nonsensical objections until _ he _ started chuckling, and soon they were both howling, and there might have been a few more tears, but things were _ okay _now. Or, at least, they might have the chance to be. 

“So _ mean_, Yuuriiii,” Victor wheezed when they’d both managed to get themselves under control. Then he sobered. “But I probably deserved it. I didn’t know… but I didn’t think, either. I’m sorry.”

“And I’m sorry that I said you were cruel.” Yuuri was looking at him again, just as intensely as when they were back in the arena lobby, but this time Victor knew better than to read anything into it. He just let himself be examined, brown eyes boring into blue, hoping that -- this time -- he might have a chance of passing Yuuri’s test.

Whatever he was searching for, he must have found it. “So what exactly are we supposed to be doing, then?” he asked finally. “What are the rules?”

“Whatever you want,” Victor said. A shadow passed over Yuuri’s expression at that, so he hastened to add, “We could hang out! Or get dinner! There are lots of things to do! It’s just your night, so it’s your choice.”

Yuuri bit his lip; clearly, a nervous habit. It was astonishing, really, the way he just wore all of his true feelings openly, for anyone to see. Victor didn’t know if he could ever have the courage to do the same. If he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure if he even remembered _ how _. “I don’t want you to have to spend time with me out of obligation.”

“But I _ want _to get to know you!” Victor protested, and to his surprise, he realized that it was true. Victor might have been worried, upset, out of his depth, and even embarrassed since he’d blundered his way into Yuuri Katsuki’s hotel room, but the one thing he hadn’t been was bored. And he was willing to bet that, whatever this deceptively ordinary man had in store for him, it would turn out to be anything but dull.

“Sounds fake, but okay.” His tone might have been dubious, but there was a little smile quirking up the corner of Yuuri’s mouth now, and his eyes had gone speculative. “Anything?” he demanded after a moment, his grin widening, and was that a _ challenge _in his voice?

A challenge, he could handle. Victor folded his arms and smirked. “Bring it, Katsuki.”

Katsuki brought it. ‘It’ being an oblong yellow… food... _ thing... _that was sealed in transparent cellophane and smelled like vanilla substitute. Victor held the corner of the wrapper pinched between his thumb and forefinger and regarded the confection(?) with deep suspicion. He poked at the contents with a finger. Spongelike, it immediately bounced back into its original shape.

Yuuri was giggling again; although he tried to muffle it behind a hand, errant titters kept escaping. Victor shot him a wounded look, only to discover that Yuuri was also aiming a phone at him, clearly recording Victor’s every reaction. His phone case was powder blue and covered with cartoon poodles. _ Does Yuuri like dogs? _Victor filed that away for later exploration.

“I have to eat this?” The question was rhetorical and Yuuri didn’t dignify it with an answer. “What is it?”

“It’s a Twinkie,” he was informed. “They’re American; vanilla cake with cream. Now quit stalling.”

Yuuri probably should have forewent the recording if he wanted to keep Victor off balance; behind a lens was home turf, an environment almost as familiar to Victor as the ice. So he shot the camera a devastating smile and tossed in a wink for good measure. “Me? _ Stall, _ when a cute boy gives me something to put in my mouth? _ Never_!” Which was a Christophe-worthy quip, and it brought color rushing back into Yuuri’s cheeks, but it also meant that Victor was now committed. So he shoved his reservations aside, ripped open the plastic, pulled out the ‘Twinkie’, and took a healthy bite.

And promptly gagged on it. It was _ revolting_. Sweet, far, far too sweet, with no texture to speak of, and oily; the artificial-vanilla-soaked preservatives coating his tongue and making his entire mouth feel gummy. As for the ‘cream’, if there was a single _ molecule _of actual milk in there, he’d…

He’d eat another Twinkie.

“Thif if _ not _ cake,” Victor choked out around the mouthful of junk food, two and a half decades’ worth of proper table manners abandoning him in his distress. “Thif if--” he forced himself to swallow the saccharine sludge. “This is _ vile_. Oh my god, is this a punishment? Is this what murderers are fed in prison? I’m still going to be tasting this in _ April_, Yuuri. Are you trying to sabotage me for Worlds? I had no idea you were such a villain, or that you were willing to go to such lengths!” He threw himself onto Yuuri’s bed in the most over-the-top swoon he could manage, narrowly avoiding the box of -- oh god, more Twinkies?! -- that was lying there. “You’ve _ murdered _me, Yuuri. With fake vanilla and lies. I hope you’re happy.”

Yuuri just about managed to stop recording before he lost it, doubling over and cackling, as unrestrained in his mirth as he was in his anger and pride. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he moaned, trying to catch his breath, “But, your _ face_!” And then he was off again. He was still snickering as he brought Victor a glass of water, and then, when that proved to be insufficient to defeat the lingering food-product aftertaste, some mouthwash.

“So do I pass?” Victor asked, once his teeth no longer felt like they were encased in crude oil. “Can I stay?”

Yuuri blinked, as though he’d forgotten that he was supposed to be deciding Victor’s fate for the evening. Some of the wariness crept back in his expression, but there was also something almost wistful there. “I don’t want to discuss skating,” he declared after a moment’s thought, “not mine, or yours, or anyone else’s.” Victor nodded, and Yuuri sighed. “Well, as long as you don’t mind watching garbage movies and probably eating more garbage food with me, then I guess you can stay as long as you want to.”

Victor cheered, and barely restrained himself from glomping Yuuri in a hug. Then a thought struck him. “Oh! Don’t forget to tag me when you post that video, okay? Wait, are you following me? What’s your username? What platforms are you on?” He reached for his own phone.

“Oh, um.” Yuuri looked abashed. “I wasn’t really planning on posting it? I don’t usually… I mean, of course we can if you want to! I just,” he took a deep breath, “I kind of wanted to have that just for… for _ me_.”

_ “Yuuri!” _

And that was when Victor Nikiforov started to fall, just the tiniest bit, in love with Yuuri Katsuki.


End file.
